Battle of the Mind
by crimescenelover
Summary: This is the story of how Kenneth Kitsom died and Aaron Cross came to be.


**Title: **A Battle of the Minds

**Summary:**"If I pass, can I stay here?" - "Do you wanna stay?" - "Yes, sir." A glimpse of how Kenneth Kitsom died and Aaron Cross rose from the ashes.

**Author's note: **Hello. Crimescenelover here. In a review, _Texicogirl _asked if I could write this one-shot. And whether she meant it or not, as the amateur-writer who is unable to say no that I am … An idea manifested and I complied. This is my first try in this universe so I hope everybody is in character. Or Aaron is, since this is pretty much all about him :)  
I always appreciate constructive criticism and good advice, though if you have any negative comments without any hint of help in it I advise you not to write as bad words help no one. But as any writer in here, I would simply LOVE if you dropped a review on your way out to tell me what you thought about it. It can only help make me a better writer.

Anyways … this one is for _texicogirl_ and I do hope she likes it! And the same goes for everyone out there as well! :D

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything or anyone you might recognize. I have prayed, pleaded and cried but unfortunately I do not own Jeremy Renner. The universe is mean, very mean.

"_Fighting for identity is the hardest part of life, for the battle is not fought in the battlefield but in the silent chambers of a soul._"

* * *

_**Manila, the Philippines, September 13**__**th**__** 2012**_

Fever was raging through his body. Coughing erupted from his throat every now and then and caused his already aching muscles to contract painfully. His arms, legs, torso, head … every limb in his body hurt. Sweat covered his entire body and he was pretty sure that wasn't from the high humidity the Philippines were known for. The crowding people seemed closer and blurred than they did a few hours ago and somehow he was certain the dusty and broken building around him had moved in and was now looming in over him, threatening to bury him in their rubble if they were to collapse.

The only other time Aaron had felt this awful was last year. He felt like he was really dying this time, just like last time. And though it hurt like hell and it scared him to be this vulnerable in the current situation, he was still feeling somewhat relieved. Because he knew as long as he was feeling like crap instead of feeling his brain slowly shutting down it meant the virus was working.

He strained his senses to register Martha telling him about a free room and guiding him through an alley, up a flight of stairs. He was barely conscious when she placed him on a bed, stripping him of his clothes and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. But he didn't hear her comforting words or the cold wash cloth she was placing in his burning forehead. His mind was scrambling and he felt all of his memories huddle together into one big mud pile. There was some that stuck out and became more prominent than the others.

Most of them were the ones concerning the fateful day when he was in the army. It had been the day that everything changed for him, and everything that he had once been was going to be erased forever to start up a new life.

A new identity.

He had always somehow felt grateful for the opportunity he got. He had always known that because of Outcome he was now much more than he once was and that he could do much more than before.

But now, with Martha at his side, whispering reassurances into his ear, he was starting to feel like the deal that seemed so sweet in the beginning now turned out to be a curse.

It made him wish that he wouldn't have accepted their offer. That he had turned them down before they got to him. Or, better yet, that he had just died out there in the Iraqi desert.

* * *

_**Ramadi, Iraq - Decemb**__**er 17th, 2003**_

Kenneth James Kitsom hugged the rifle of his gun tighter as the truck wrestled over a large bump on the road. The cabin was shaking as the vehicle drove across the road that was so sandy and bumpy it hardly clarified as a road. Inside the cabin were ten men, not counting himself, who were all positioned in a similar fashion as Kenneth: sitting with their feet planted solidly on the floor with their backs slightly slouched. In the truck in front of them and in the two trucks behind them, they all sat in the same manor.

The convoy was silent, not one man talked in either truck. Most of them had been awake for more than 24 hours after they had basically walked into an ambush. They had been doing a quick reckon before they would head back to base, but the entire battalion was caught off guard and the next thing they knew, bullets were raining upon them.

Kenneth still couldn't comprehend what had happened back there, but he knew enough not to ask. It was one of the first things he leaned when he joined the battalion: Don't ask questions, just aim and shoot. His army recruiter had made it very clear to him during training. Kenneth had complied without a second thought, because he knew he had gotten an once-in-a-lifetime chance. He wanted nothing more than to serve his country, to be somebody. He didn't have anything else. He was never the brightest one in class, never the brightest in anything actually. But he knew what he wanted. He knew what he could become. He could join the army and actually make a difference. He could become somebody. No one around him had made any arguments against it; they knew too what was in store for him.

He had tried to enlist a few times before he was accepted. The recruiter had stared at him for a good while before he had been asked several basic questions. Suddenly he found himself with a gun in his hands, shooting at still targets with a commander screaming in his ear, several miles away from Reno. And though he was being beaten and called every swear word in the book, he was satisfied. He had been given the opportunity to be someone and he gladly accepted it. How long he was going to have that he did not know. He was sure it wasn't going to be as long as he would have liked. His comrades looked at him like they knew it too.

The truck rustled again and Kenneth was almost thrown over.

"Stop fidgeting with your rifle, boy," an older private who seat across from him said. He was one of the few that managed to look relaxed and comfortable sitting on the hard surface of the rumbling truck. He was a veteran, who had been overseas more than once, so he was an experienced soldier. Kenneth had always liked the older man. He had helped him from time to time when the young soldiers picked on him. But he never could remember his name. He was never good with remembering those. The veteran turned to the soldier sitting by his right side. "Someday he's going to blow his head off," he stated tiredly.

"Probably wouldn't even understand what happened," the other man huffed and smirked.

Kenneth swallowed thickly a single time before looking down at the floor. He paid no attention to the rest of the conversation that had started on his behalf, as he instead started to count the small sand particles on the dirty floor.

They had barely driven for another half hour before everybody was shaken from their thoughts - literally. A large blast filled the air and Kenneth and everybody else inside were forced to the cabin ground.

"What the hell happened?!" someone yelled.

"It exploded! Right in front of us!" another rapidly answered, his voice rising.

A rising tension cut through the previous silence and the inside of the vehicle suddenly got hotter than before. Quick murmurs of panic were whispered among the soldiers but Kenneth didn't listen to any of them. He desperately looked around to figure out what had just happened.

However, he did not have to time. Nor did anyone else for that matter. Because the sound of the corporal, who was riding in the front, yelling out loud got everybody's attention. "Turn away from th …!"

The corporal didn't get any further as another and louder blast echoed.

This time their truck was lifted from the ground, soaring briefly through the air before it landed violently and rolled. Kenneth tried to shield his head as every single soldier was crashing into the walls. Then just as quickly as the truck had been thrown, it stopped moving.

It got warm. It wasn't the heat that came from the sun, but a hot raging fire that burned all that came too close.

Tortured screams sounded, and he didn't know if it was his own.

Everything burned and hurt.

The smell of burning tires and blood filled his nostrils.

Pain shot throughout his body and grabbed a fierce hold in his entire being.

Then all noises ceased and the Iraqi landscape was very quiet. The only thing Kenneth could hear was a loud ringing in his ears and a faint sound of flames burning in the background.

He was confused; his mind was so muddled and he could not grab one coherent thought. An eerie feeling was the last thing he sensed before darkness grabbed him and dragged him under.

* * *

_**Virginia, United States, December 28**__**th**__** 2003**_

The first time he woke up he hadn't been able to feel anything. His body felt like it was floating away on a white cloud and his mind was swirling too wildly to even try to understand what had happened. He had heard mumbled voices, some more frantic than others, but he never found the energy to make out the spoken words or to open his eyes.

He did feel a single light touch on his arm as he was about to slip away again. Surprised that he could actually feel the limb's warmth he had managed to hang on for just a moment longer.

That moment was long enough for him to register one sentence before he had slipped back into the comforting darkness.

"_I think he would make the perfect candidate._"

* * *

The second time he was more lucid.

When he started to rise towards consciousness pain greeted him way before he actually opened his eyes. It wasn't too bad; it was a dull throbbing that hit him in waves from time to time. Sound followed next. A steady annoying beeping reached his ears. At first he wanted nothing more than for it to disappear, but he couldn't help but notice the similarity with a heart monitor that he had watched and heard in movies some time ago. He must need it, otherwise it wouldn't be there. And that meant he was still alive.

Wasn't he?

Deciding to found out, he tried opening his eyes. Prying them open proved a harder task than originally thought, and when he finally managed to do so they were assaulted with bright light that hurt his already aching head. Instinctively he blinked several times before his sensitive eyes adjusted to the lights.

The first thing he saw was the tile panels on the ceiling and the fluorescent lamps that were installed roughly 5 feet apart from each other. Squinting, he looked away from the ceiling and turned his gaze to his room. To his right was a window, but he couldn't enjoy his view, if he even had one, as blinds had been pulled down and would have left his room in darkness had the lamps not been on. To his left a bit away from his bed was an uncomfortable looking plastic chair and in front of it was a small but high portable table that looked like it could fit perfectly across his bed.

It was only then he noticed there was a presence in his room. A woman was standing next to him, fiddling with the heart monitor that steadily beeped along. She looked at him and when she found him awake she smiled down at him sweetly. "Hello there. Welcome back. Do you know where you are?"

"A … a hospital?" he rasped. He flinched at how rough his voice sounded and how it hurt when he spoke.

"Very good," she said, still with a smile plastered on her face. "I know you probably have many questions, but you go to sleep now, then we'll take it later, okay?"

Kenneth could only nod. He didn't know how else he should respond. But before he could close his eyes to try and sleep, they caught sight of a man, standing on the other side of the large window that lead to the halls outside his room. The man looked rather old and spent with thin gray hair on his head and matching bushy eyebrows. He seemed to be stirring directly at Kenneth like he had a plan with him, which made the wounded soldier nervous.

His recruiter had always tried to get him to learn to trust what his stomach was telling him and follow that, unless he was told otherwise. Kenneth had never understood what he had meant until now, when he found himself on the receiving end of the old man's hungry stare.

He stared up at the nurse pleadingly. She seemed to have noticed the man too as she smiled with understanding. "It's okay," she reassured. "I will stay with you until you fall asleep."

_She's nice_ Kenneth thought before he closed his eyes and darkness grabbed a hold of him again, the scary man quickly forgotten.

* * *

_**Virginia, United States, January 4**__**th**__** 2004**_

Two days after he had woken up he had been transferred to another hospital. Though, there were still doctors and nurses it was different than what he had seen before or what little he knew about hospitals. Everywhere he looked there was guards, holding rifles, and men in suits and army gear. It was very different than what he had first woken up to, but he found it strangely comforting. It somehow resembled the army life he had been living in before the accident.

And he noticed that the scary old man had followed him to his new location. When he was strong enough to walk to the bathroom and around the hospital halls he had seen the man lurking around in the halls, either talking on his phone or with other people

Kenneth wondered why the man was constantly around him but never had the courage to ask. Not the man himself or any of his doctors or nurses. Whenever he spotted the man, Kenneth would look down on the floor and avoid any eye contact.

Eventually they got to talk. But it wasn't at all what Kenneth expected. He had been placed in a wheel chair with his IV hanging on a pole attached to the chair and rolled into a dim room. The floor and walls were all a shiny grey along with the table and chair that sat opposite of Kenneth. There he had waited nervously for a good ten minutes until the man came walking in. He did not look scary as he had from a distance. Instead he had smiled; a vague quick smile that never really met his eyes but the notion was enough for Kenneth to not feel fear of the old man. Instead he was filled with dread for what was about to happen. He was fidgeting slightly in his chair, suddenly unable to sit in a position that didn't hurt him in any way.

The man eventually cleared his throat and introduced himself as Admiral Mark Turso. He eyed the younger soldier before him for a second before speaking up again. "Are you comfortable?"

Kenneth had no other reply than, "Yes, sir."

"You don't look comfortable," Turso replied.

"No, sir."

Mark Turso didn't push the matter further. Instead he folded his hands together, placed them on the table and leaned forward. "What's your name?" he then gently asked.

"Kenneth James."

"Full name, Kenneth."

He grabbed his thumb nervously and opened his mouth. At first it didn't seem like he could form any words. But then he stuttered, "K-Kenneth … James … K … Kitsom."

Unfaced by the stuttering Mark Turso continued. "Where are you from, Kenneth?"

"Um … when?"

"Before you enlisted," the Admiral clarified helpfully.

"Berwin."

"Is that a town?"

"Berwin, it's a state home," Kenneth quickly explained.

"What state?"

"In … in Reno," he answered and swallowed. The questions were very similar to the ones his recruiter had asked. So therefore he asked one himself. "Is this a test?"

"Yes, it is."

At the answer, Kenneth looked down on his hands and took a deep shaking breath. His eyes then moved up again, the suddenly pleading orbs looking at the admiral in front of him. "If I pass, can I stay here?"

"Do you wanna stay?"

"Yes, sir," he answered with more confidence than he had shown in his whole life.

"That's good to know," Mark Turso gave him a comforting smile. "Do you like serving your country?"

"Y-yes, sir," Kenneth wasn't sure where the older man would take that question.

"Would you die for your country?" Turso pressed on.

Kenneth opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again. He had no idea what the right answer to that question would be. He wasn't even sure if there was an answer.

Admiral Turso seemed to notice his hesitance as he kindly replied, "It's okay. It's not a trick question."

Kenneth calmed a little but still swallowed a single time before quietly answering, "I … I guess."

Whatever he had said, it had been the right answer.

Because soon the Admiral was talking about a so-called program. Outcome. It was top secret and Kenneth had a hard time keeping up with all the information and the use of long, complicated words. But he understood enough. He understood what it all boiled down to in the end. He understood that it meant letting go of everything he had lived with and encountered up until now, even himself.

He would allow himself to be wiped clean and start over. And he wouldn't be given a random life with a new name. No, he would still help and protect people, like he had always wanted to do, but instead his ordinarily human self, he would be a sort of super soldier. A protector who could do more and go the extra length. It all felt very appealing and while most might have problems with erasing their old lives, Kenneth had none. He knew by now that there wasn't much of his life left. There never had been much to begin with. He never really had any form of identity. With this … program, he now had to chance to make his mark in the world. And as Admiral Mark Turso talked and explained Kenneth felt a weird feeling of hope growing in his stomach.

So when Turso leaned more forward, overcome by a seriousness Kenneth had not seen in the man, and asked, "Will you give yourself to this program?" Kenneth for once had no problem answering.

"Yes, sir."

Mark Turso looked Kenneth Kitsom directly in the eyes, all smile and gentleness gone from his features. "Welcome to the program."

* * *

_**Manila, the Philippines, September 14**__**th**__** 2012**_

"_If I pass can I stay here?_"

"_Do you wanna stay?_"

About eight years after the question had been asked it now haunted Aaron Cross' ears. It had haunted him since they had been trying to kill him. When he had first been asked he knew the answer. He knew what the answer to that question was without a shadow of the doubt.

Now, he did not.

Now, a part of him wished he had just opened his mouth to scream out no. A scream so loud and glass-shattering that no one would ever dare to ask him again. But another part knew that had he never said yes, who knows where he would have ended up. He dared not think it and a little piece of him will always be grateful to the people who gave him something to hope and aspire for. But the people who had done that for him were no longer who they once were. Instead some of them are hunting him like a wild dog, looking for the quickest way to put him down. He would no longer cower in a corner and do what he was being told without asking questions.

Back when he was Kenneth he had asked for an identity. He thought he had found it when he entered the program. He did, but not in the way he first thought. He had thought Aaron Cross was just a cover for the real Kenneth Kitsom, the one that lay hidden deep within him, but now he realized he was wrong. Kenneth had never been his true identity. He became Aaron and he knew, no questions asked, that it was the identity he was destined to have. It was who he was.

And right now, at that moment, when the virus had taken effect and locked in all the enhancements, Kenneth had completely disappeared.

Kenneth James Kitsom had lost the fight and was now gone from this world. It was time for Aaron Cross to step up and win the battle.

He hung up the small tin box necklace that used to carry his chems on the mirror edge and as he looked at it he realized that was his conclusion. One he was content with.

He needed everybody else, Ric Byer, Admiral Mark Turso and whoever else was searching for him, to know who he now was. He needed them to see that it was game over for them. Which was why he decided to write on the blank mirror, knowing they would see the room sooner or later.

The message would be broadcasted, live and clear, that Aaron Cross had fought for his own identity and won. And that the people he had been submitted under would no longer break any of those who were willing to fight for what they believed in.

_No more_.

**And that was the end. Please, tell me what you think! I would love to know! :)  
**

**Well ... Crimescenelover out for now! Goodbye!**


End file.
